


every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end

by ganseytheking



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Probably ooc, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Stanley Uris Needs a Hug, canon? i don't know her, descriptive writing? exposition? never heard of 'em, eddie still dies, i don't fucking know chapter 2 fucked me up and i needed to Do Something About It, i listened to closing time on repeat while writing this and could Not Explain To You Why, i too am a Trashmouth, idk how to not write only dialogue... my greatest weakness...., it is so late and i am so emotional help, lots and lots of swearing, no editing we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-19 18:29:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20661776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ganseytheking/pseuds/ganseytheking
Summary: Of course Eddie only remembers that night when he’s absolutely skewered by the clown-spider’s leg. How the fuck did he forget all of that until now? Did Richie remember any of it? Fuck – oh, he was hurt. What the fuck. What the fuck. Richie gapes up at him, blurts out his name in this breathless, cracked way that would break Eddie’s heart if it wasn’t already impaled. His face, white with shock, is reflected in Richie’s glasses, and his thoughts are cotton but he remembers....Or, it takes Eddie Kaspbrak getting shish-kabob'ed to remember that he kind of loves Richie.





	every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end

**Author's Note:**

> okay, listen. i have thought about reddie every single night this god damn week and i Cannot Take It Anymore. i haven't written a fic in a decade probably so rip. this is certainly not the best writing i have ever done nor is it very accurate w canon because i saw chapter two once and immediately repressed it because i am sad!!!!!!!! thank you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

He hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off of Richie all night.

It was hot, as Derry summers were always hot, and the alcohol didn’t help. Normally, Eddie didn’t indulge like this, all too aware of what drinking could do to your body, too busy taking care of everyone else to even want to get drunk, anyway. But they’d just graduated, and for once, Eddie was letting himself do something risky. He’d earned it, hadn’t he? They all had.

His lanky best friend was on Bill’s back, his tie knotted around his head, whooping and hollering as Bill runs in circles, hitching Richie up every time he starts to slide off. They run past Beverly, who leans against a tree with a lit cigarette, and she laughs when Richie blows her a wet kiss. Eddie smiles.

Somewhere else in Derry, the rest of their class is getting wasted at a house party and celebrating their departure from Derry High with messy hook-ups and weed and who knows what else. Technically, Richie was supposed to be there, as valedictorian, but he’d loudly declared to the group a few days ago that the _real_ party would be happening at their clubhouse in the woods. After all, half of the group wasn’t invited to that other one – what with Stan being a year younger, Bev going to a different school, Mike being homeschooled. Richie had no interest in a celebration without all of the Losers, and besides, they were celebrating something different than the other kids. They’d survived.

It was bittersweet, because in the morning, Bev would have to return to her aunt’s house, and in a couple of months, Eddie, Bill and Ben would be on their way to college, far from Derry. Richie and Mike were staying behind – Mike, to continue working on the farm, and Richie, because there was no way Richie was leaving Stan behind.

(He had told Eddie once, when they were alone in the clubhouse, that really he hadn’t applied to college because he had no idea what he wanted to do, or if he even wanted to go to college. While Richie couldn’t fucking wait to get the hell out of Derry – he’d mentioned it oh, a few times – he had whispered to Eddie, as they were tangled together on the hammock, that he was secretly afraid to leave because he was worried everything would change too much. Eddie, attempting to draw attention from the fact that being so close to Richie was turning his cheeks red, had said something about how he couldn’t wait for the first night of absolute silence away from his mother. Maybe he should have said something else.)

“You’re staring.”

Eddie jumped, startled out of his thoughts, and turned to face Stan, who seemed absolutely apathetic to the fact that he’d scared the shit out of Eddie. “What?”

“You’re staring,” Stan repeated. “And drooling a bit.” The taller boy reached towards Eddie’s mouth and he swatted Stan’s hand away immediately.

“Shut the fuck up, no I’m not.”

Stan shrugged, and took a sip from his water. “I’m surprised you’re drinking.”

Oh, right. Glancing at the poorly mixed rum and coke he held in his other hand that he’d all but forgotten about, Eddie said, “I’m being risky tonight. Don’t worry, I’m planning on taking double my vitamins tomorrow to make up for it.”

An amused chuckle escaped from Stan’s mouth, and he shook his head. “Risky? Eddie Kaspbrak? I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Whatever half-assed retort Eddie is about to make dies out when Bill and Richie fly by them, Bill now chasing Richie, screaming something like “I swear to _God_ Tozier if you try to wet willy me one more time I will remove your entire _arm_ from your _body_ – ”

“Why are you just hanging around by yourself? I’m supposed to be the outsider tonight, not you.” Eddie turned his eyes back to Stan in confusion.

“What are you talking about? You’re not an outsider.” 

Stan shrugs again, and this time Eddie sees the cracks in his relaxed demeanor. Oh. _Oh_. His stomach twists sadly and he can’t think of anything proper to say, so he walks straight into Stan, who exhales at the sudden contact, and wraps his arms around his friend’s waist. “I know it feels like we’re leaving you behind, but we love you, Staniel. We’re not going to forget about you.”

“Easy for you to say now,” Stan says quietly into Eddie’s hair. “It’s okay. I’m happy you guys are getting out of here.”

“You will too,” Eddie insists, pulling back and looking up at him. “It’s just a minor inconvenience that you have to wait another year. We’ll all get out of Derry and we’re gonna be friends til we’re eighty years old and senile and have to eat puréed food and use diapers and oh god we’re gonna be so gross, Stan, old people are just walking diseases waiting to happen –” Stanley laughs, just like Eddie was hoping he would, and visibly relaxes.

“Yeah, okay. Still doesn’t explain why you’re not participating in the festivities.”

How does he get out of this one without accidentally making it obvious that he’s watching Richie because he’s got a stupid fucking crush? “I’m taking it all in,” he replies, hoping that it’s enough of an answer to ward his friend off.

It’s not, of course it’s not, because Stan is way too smart for his own good, but Stan is also the fucking _man_ and doesn’t push it any further, only throwing a suspicious look Eddie’s way and then saying, “Five bucks Richie ends the night with some kind of injury.”

“I hope the fuck not,” Eddie scowls. “I’m sick of cleaning him up. My first-aid kit is so depleted because of that fucker.”

He wasn’t really sick of it. It was an excuse to be close to Richie, to touch him. But he wasn’t about to tell Stan that.

“Eds! Eds! Don’t let Big Bill kill me!” Richie skids to a stop right as he’s about to collide into Eddie and then ducks behind the shorter boy’s back.

Eddie suppresses a laugh. “If Bill’s trying to kill you, it’s for good reason. Who am I to stand in the way of justice?” He pauses. “And don’t call me Eds.”

Richie presses a hand to his heart, feigning devastation. “I’m wounded, Spaghetti Man. Wounded! I thought you loved me!”

Eddie’s heart skips a beat. Duh. “I hate you, actually, and will gladly watch Bill murder you.”

His voice lacks any sort of malice, though, and Richie’s eyes glint gleefully. “Liar.”

“Fuck you.”

“Funny, that’s exactly what your mom did last night –”

“Beep beep, Richie,” Eddie says at the same time that Stan says, “Oh here comes Big Bill now!”

Indeed, Bill appears out of nowhere and dives at Richie, tackling him to the ground. “Watch his glasses!” Eddie scolds, to which Richie shouts, “Save me, Edward!” before the two boys begin to wrestle. Stan and Eddie stand and watch, amused, and Bev joins them, a grin gracing her pretty face. “Where’re Mike and Ben?” Eddie asks eventually, taking a sip of his drink and grimacing. “They’re missing this pitiful mess.”

“Oh, I dared them to streak. They’re probably still working up the nerve to do it,” Bev answers non-chalantly, eyes still on their friends rolling around on the ground.

Eddie kind of gasp-laughs. “No way they do it. They’re probably moping in the clubhouse.”

“I don’t know,” Stan says. “You know how seriously we take dares around here – Jesus, Richie, be careful!”

Eddie turns to see Richie with his legs wrapped around Bill’s neck in a poor mockery of an actual wrestling moves, his foot basically on Bill’s face. Eddie shudders. “Do you know how much bacteria is on your fucking shoe, Richie, don’t put it near Bill’s mouth – gross, Richie!”

Bill shoves Richie off of him, wiping at his mouth in disgust. “Beep beep, Richie.”

“I didn’t even say anything,” the boy protests, looking way too pleased with himself.

Suddenly, two blurs rush past them, screaming bloody murder. For a moment, fear grips Eddie by the neck – _It’s back, It’s coming for us_ – but then Bev squeals in delight and claps her hands together. “My boys!” She crows. “Happy fucking graduation!”

Ben and Mike poke their heads out from behind a tree a ways in front of them, and Eddie sighs in relief. Of course It wasn’t back. “Can we put our clothes on now?” Ben asks, still catching his breath.

From the ground, Richie cackles, a look of pure ecstasy on his face. “Holy shit. Oh my god. This is the best night ever.”

He stretches out his arms as if he were praising God, and Eddie zeroes in on Richie’s palms, which are scraped to actual shit. “Your hands, Richie,” he shakes his head, and Richie drops his arms to inspect said hands. Stan looks pointedly at Eddie and raises an eyebrow as if to say _told you so_.

Richie laughs. “Shit, when’d I do that?”

Bill knocks him upside the head and stands up. “During that pathetic attempt you made at fighting back.”

“Fighting? I thought we were flirting!” Richie jokes, getting to his feet as well. He looks at Eddie. “Dr. K? Patch me up? Don’t want to get an infection, right?”

“Wow, Eddie’s been rubbing off on you. Since when do you care about getting infected?” Stan snorts.

Richie grins. “I _wish_ Eddie would rub off on me –”

“Beep beep, Richie!” They all chorus, even though Eddie is already walking to the clubhouse entrance, hiding the furious blush on his cheeks.

He’s already got his shower cap on and first-aid kit open when Richie hops down. “I thought we were over these things,” Richie pulls it right off Eddie’s head, chuckling at Eddie’s glare. “Spiders aren’t scary, Eds.” Eddie doesn’t reply, just waits expectantly for Richie to sit in front of him. He does, plopping down ungracefully and crossing his long legs, holding his hands out. “Am I gonna be alright Doc? Tell me if I’m gonna die, I can take it.”

“Hold still,” Eddie tears open a packet of antiseptic wipes. “You move too much.” In response, Richie freezes, his face in some stupid funny expression that makes Eddie roll his eyes. “This is gonna sting.” Carefully, gently, he takes one of the wipes and starts to clean Richie’s right palm. Richie winces, but they’ve been through this before, and so he dutifully sits still while Eddie, taking more time than probably necessary, disinfects the scrapes. When he finishes Richie’s left hand, he puts the wipe down and holds it up to the light to make sure there’s no splinters or little rocks that he missed. The long scar across Richie’s palm, the one that matches his own, shines pink-y white, and Eddie is possessed by the desire to ghost his fingers along it.

He traces the scar lightly, and he hears Richie’s breath catch. “Sometimes I can’t believe we didn’t just dream it all,” Eddie says quietly after a few seconds. Presses his own scar to Richie’s, despite the open scrapes. “That it wasn’t some long shared nightmare.”

“I know,” the other boy replies, his voice strangely thick. Eddie meets his eyes, sees something he doesn’t quite recognize there. “The more time passes the less real it feels. Like I’m forgetting it. I don’t know how I could forget it, but…” And then Richie curls his fingers upwards so that he’s holding Eddie’s hand, and oh, oh, Eddie can barely hear over his pulse roaring in his ears. It’s a strangely tender moment from Richie, and he has to force himself not to read into things, because it would be so easy to just lean forward and close the space between them and…

“I ever tell you what happened the first time we went into that shithole house, after we got separated?” Richie’s voice snaps him back into reality. He shakes his head, and Richie continues. “When It got me alone. It… It pretended to be you. So I’d go after It. ‘Cause It knew I’d follow you anywhere. Even if I was scared.”

Eddie’s a little breathless at Richie’s sudden honesty. “Why are you…”

“And then later I saw It in front of you, and I thought It was gonna kill you, and all I could think was that I was in my own personal hell, and if I had to watch you die I was going to lose my fucking mind.”

He remembers the way Richie ran to him, yelled at Eddie to look at him, the way Richie grabbed his face even as Eddie screamed his bloody ear off. It’s a hazy image, through all the fear and pain (his arm throbs as he thinks about it, a reminder that it happened) and the years since of repression. Richie’s right, the memory is starting to fade. A response to trauma, probably. The brain healing itself.

“… and if we were gonna die I wanted us to be looking at each other and not at that stupid fucking clown.”

Eddie blinks. He’d gotten lost in his thoughts again. “Stupid fucking clown,” he echoes in agreement.

“It knew before I did.”

“Knew what?”

Richie’s silent, looking at their clasped hands. It’s a little uncomfortable, holding both of their left hands together like this, and Eddie’s palm is starting to get sweaty. “I don’t want you to hate me,” Richie says finally, and Eddie almost laughs, because he tells Richie that he hates him every day but Richie _has_ to know that Eddie never could really hate him.

“I already do,” he replies anyway. “Come on, Rich, what is it?”

“I’m serious. You’re gonna hate me.” Richie’s voice cracks and Eddie’s heart drops into his stomach. He doesn’t like this somber Richie, wishes that the other boy would make a “your mom” joke or something to lighten up the weird tension between them. He looks at Richie, really looks at him, at his messy hair and rumpled button-up shirt and the stupid tie around his head and how grown-up he looks compared to the gangly little twelve-year old that Eddie faced a killer clown with.

Impulsively, he reaches forward with his free hand and pushes Richie’s glasses, threatening to slide right off his face, up his nose. Richie flinches at the contact and Eddie frowns. “Richie, you know I…” he shakes his head. “I could never hate you. You’re my best friend.”

At that, Richie lets out a sad, helpless noise. “Promise?”

“I promise. You can talk to me.”

Sighing, Richie meets Eddie’s eyes, and bluntly says, “I kind of love you. Like, love love you.”

Everything is short-circuiting and Eddie’s brain is working double-time to catch up. Richie loves him? Richie _love_ loves him? What the fuck? What the fuck! He has to be dreaming.

Eddie’s mouth drops open despite himself and Richie, taking it the wrong way, rips his hand away, pulling his knees to his chest. “I told you you’d hate me.”

There aren’t even words to explain how wrong Richie is, so Eddie pushes himself forward until he’s hovering right in front of the other boy, who has grown very still. “Is this okay?” He asks quietly, eyes on Richie’s lips.

Richie squeaks.

“Rich,” Eddie says. “I’d like to kiss you, but I need you to tell me it’s okay.”

They stay there, suspended for a moment, while Richie’s mouth opens and closes in shock. “It’s okay,” he breathes out finally, and Eddie doesn’t wait another second to close the space between them. It’s awkward and not the best kiss because they’re both wildly out of their depths here, and if he were completely sober he’d probably be thinking about how unsanitary kissing Richie is, but Eddie has wanted to do this for fucking _ever_ and so this moment is just about perfect despite it all.

When he pulls away, Richie’s glasses are crooked and he lets out a shocked laugh before fixing them. “Uh. Holy shit.”

Eddie giggles – he fucking _giggles_ like a goddamn schoolgirl – and sits back. “You’re a dumbass.”

“You kiss like your mother.”

“Beep fucking beep, Richie!” Eddie pushes him hard. “I take it back. I hate you.”

Richie laughs again, looking so relieved that Eddie almost kisses him again. “Sure you do, Eds.”

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie stands up abruptly and holds out his hand. “We should get back.”

“Or we could not do that and like, make out.” Richie waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

The suggestion is enticing, but Eddie would rather die than have one of the Losers walk in on him and Richie doing… that.

“Don’t push your luck, Trashmouth.”

They spend the rest of the night stealing looks at each other and holding back smiles, and if Richie flirts with him more than usual, testing Eddie’s patience, the others don’t notice.

* * *

Of course Eddie only remembers that night when he’s absolutely skewered by the clown-spider’s leg. How the _fuck_ did he forget all of that until now? Did Richie remember any of it? Fuck – oh, he was hurt. What the fuck. What the _fuck_. Richie gapes up at him, blurts out his name in this breathless, cracked way that would break Eddie’s heart if it wasn’t already impaled. His face, white with shock, is reflected in Richie’s glasses, and his thoughts are cotton but he _remembers_. “Richie,” he says, hating the way it comes out like a question, how he sounds like a child. “Richie.” It’s all he can manage to say as he dangles there like a fucking puppet, numbness spreading through his body. He can’t feel his legs – probably because his spine has been, uh, interrupted.

He really thought that he’d killed It. Stupid Eddie, thinking he was strong enough to kill an immortal alien monster thing.

The world goes sideways as Pennywise tosses him away, and Eddie’s vision blurs and becomes static, and for a moment, he completely blacks out.

But then he can hear his friends, can hear Richie, and Jesus, dying just feels like he’s a little too drunk.

Yeah, he’s dying. He can tell. If being literally impaled didn’t kill him, then infection would – from the disgusting bacteria-ridden water they’d waded through, or the fucking _murderous alien shapeshifter_ that had ended up getting him after all.

Blinking is exhausting, but suddenly Richie’s face is in front of his and Eddie forces himself to stay lucid enough to focus on him. It was so unfair that he looked so handsome, even now, wet and grimy, his hair sticking to his forehead above his glasses, which had gone askew in all the chaos. Instinctively, Eddie’s hand rises to fix them, but searing pain burns through him as soon as he moves and his hand falls back down as he hisses.

This would probably be easier if Eddie didn’t feel like he had wasted his entire fucking life up until he’d gotten Mike’s phone call. Myra, his job, New York, all of it was worthless now that he knew what he could have had if Derry hadn’t robbed him of it first. Eddie was going to die before he even really lived, and that sucked the biggest fucking balls ever.

Eddie comes to the horrible realization that Richie is crying, and he hates everything that is happening so much. He should say something. He should tell Richie that he remembers. It’s now or never, obviously. There’s no way he’s getting out of this one. “Rich, I gotta tell you something,” he forces the words out.

It doesn’t matter that their friends are right there, or that there’s a monster waiting to murder them all. But suddenly Eddie loses all the courage that he had built up since Richie had reminded him that he was brave, what, an hour ago? It felt like days had passed.

He wants to say _I can't believe I couldn't move while you almost died._  
  
He wants to say _I’m sorry I forgot that I loved you._

He wants to say _you are the only person in the world that I would dive into greywater for._  
  
He wants to say _I don’t want to die because I need to make up the last twenty seven years with you. _

Instead, he says, “I fucked your mother.” Wishes that somehow, Richie will understand exactly what he didn’t say.

Richie laughs, and even though it’s not the joyful, boisterous laugh that Eddie wants so badly to hear, it’s enough for this moment.

The entire cavern is shaking from Pennywise’s violent attempts to get to the Losers, and he remembers something else – his hands around the leper’s throat, how the horrid thing had gotten smaller, had choked and wailed and actually seemed afraid, and adrenaline rushes through his body when the idea settles itself in his brain. Quickly, he tells the others about what had happened, how he thinks he could have killed It. If they make It small, maybe they can actually defeat It once and for all. Eddie hopes, at least. He’s going to die, but his friends have to survive. They have to. Or it’s all for nothing.

He surprises himself with how certain he is about his looming end. Eddie Kaspbrak’s entire existence has been avoiding that exact thing, and now that it’s come, all he can think about is how funny it is that Pennywise said gazebo. A giggle escapes his lips. What a ridiculous fucking thing.

“Eds?”

“Don’t call me that,” he replies automatically, and flicks his gaze to Richie, who kneels beside him and has his shirt pressed tightly to the wound in Eddie’s chest. It’s just the two of them now. Eddie hadn’t even noticed the others leave, but he notices now that Pennywise’s attention has been called elsewhere, and he feels guilty that he’s probably going to die without saying a proper goodbye to the Losers.

“Sorry,” Richie mutters miserably, a tear dripping off his chin onto Eddie’s arm.

Eddie hates that, hates that Richie isn’t fucking with him just because he’s bleeding out. “Hey,” he whispers, but Richie won’t look at him. His hands are shaking. Slowly, with a lot of effort, Eddie gets his hand on top of Richie’s, and they still immediately. “You think I’ll see Stan? Or do Jews have a different heaven? Assuming I even get to heaven –”

“Stop it,” Richie cuts him off sharply, snapping his head towards him. “You’re not going to die, asshole. You can’t…” He watches Richie swallow hard and shake his head. “You can’t die.”

“I’m not immortal, Rich. He got me pretty good.” Black spots are starting to dance across his vision, which is a bad sign. Fuck. “Figures I’d be the first one to go. Stan aside, obviously.”

Richie’s grasp on his shirt tightens. “Shut the fuck up, Eddie.”

“I saved your life, Trashmouth. You think you’d be a little more grateful.”

He only gets a glare in response. And there’s the memory again, of hands pressed together, of his lips on Richie's, and before Eddie can stop himself, he blurts out, “I’m sorry I forgot.”

It’s quiet for a second as Richie looks at him, his eyebrows knitted together. “We all forgot. It’s not your fault.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean, then?”

“Do you remember our graduation party?”

The look on the other man’s face tells Eddie that he does. “Why?” Richie chews at his cheek.

It’s hard to say anything else because holy fucking fuck of motherfuck, everything hurts and it’s getting harder to breathe. He lets out a strained exhale. “Shit,” Eddie feels tears leak out of his eyes. “It hurts, Richie.”

“You’re gonna be okay,” Richie presses the shirt harder against him, as though he hasn’t bled out way too much already, as if it’ll magically repair the irreparable damage done to Eddie’s insides. The cavern shakes again as Pennywise lets out a feral howl. Someone screams – Bev, maybe.

“You need to go help them.”

Richie shakes his head. “Need to stay with you.”

“I’m a lost cause, Rich. I can’t be selfish and keep you here with me so that I don’t die alone. What if you’re the difference between winning and losing? You gotta,” fucking fuck it hurts to breathe. He feels winded, doesn’t miss the worried expression on Richie’s face. “You gotta do it. If not for them or for you then for me. Don’t let me fucking die for nothing.”

“You’re not going to die, Eddie! Stop saying that shit!”

“Richie, you know I – I…” He trails off. If he tells him now, then Richie won’t leave, and they’ll all die. He knows it. Richie looks at him, wide-eyed, and then his palm is on Eddie’s cheek. A pang of longing instantly jolts through Eddie’s nerves, and again he thinks about how fucking unfair this all is. There’s a life that he could have lived with Richie, and it would have been so good. “I’ll be okay. Don’t worry. I’m just sayin’ all it cause I’m scared.”

Another violent quake sends Richie’s glasses further down his face. Breathing so shallowly that his head gets dizzy, Eddie musters up enough strength to reach up and push them up Richie’s nose. “Thanks, Spaghetti,” Richie whispers, his hand still on Eddie’s cheek.

“Go kill that fucking clown. I’ll still be here.” He’s lying, he’s lying, oh he’s lying, because he can feel himself getting weaker and weaker, but the hope that flashes through his friend’s face is worth it.

“You better fucking be.” And Richie moves forward, kisses his cheek (unfair unfair unfair), then scrambles to his feet and sprints towards their friends.

Eddie doesn’t want to die. He tries to hold on as long as he can, groaning through clenched teeth and willing the awful wound in his chest to just go away. But it doesn’t, and eventually, Eddie does.

Richie reaches him first, after the Losers crush It’s vile black heart in their hands, and sees that his best friend’s eyes have gone blank, a ghost of a smile on his lips. _Liar_, Richie thinks.


End file.
